


The Mission

by AddisonZhang



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Angst, Blood and Torture, Crossdressing, Disguise, M/M, Male Friendship, Psychological Torture, Sacrifice, Special Operations Squad - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-05
Updated: 2014-06-16
Packaged: 2018-02-03 11:45:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1743539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AddisonZhang/pseuds/AddisonZhang
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>According to canon, a reluctant Jean and Armin must pretend to be Eren and Krista and offer themselves up for capture in their place. But what if Levi and Mikasa hadn't shown up in time? ...This might not turn out how you imagine...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It’s dark in the warehouse where the MP left them. In the quiet greyness, Armin can hear Jean’s breathing coming out a little louder than usual, a little less steady than usual, and it makes Armin’s heart chug nervously. He can see well enough to notice the knit of Jean’s brows and the lock of his jaw. This isn’t an uncommon look, Armin has seen it nearly every day for the past few months whenever Jean has to do something that makes him nervous, especially if it’s a result of something related to Eren Jeagar. But today the look is even more pronounced than usual—and for good reason. Armin and Jean are sitting in wooden chairs that face each other, about ten feet apart, their wrists bound behind them to the poles on either side. And Armin has long blonde extensions knotted up in his hair.

They don’t say anything for several minutes. Armin just sits and listens to Jean breathe. Jean tests the ropes that hold him to the chair and finds he can’t break them. And if he can’t break them then Armin most certainly can’t, so his worry doubles.

“Test the ropes,” he says anyway. Maybe, by some miracle, Armin’s are looser. But they’re not. A few seconds later Armin shakes his head. They’re trapped.

 _But that was the whole point, wasn’t it?_ Jean thinks, fighting the bitterness that he’s been holding back ever since the order was first given. Not quite willing to accept the idea of complete helplessness, Jean asks again, “You’re sure you can’t wriggle your wrists out? You’re skinny.”

Armin tries again. He tries until it burns. He glances up to see Jean staring at him from under a creased brow, so he tries once more until it burns too much and he knows the outer layer of skin on his wrists has curled up. Then he shakes his head no. Definitely no. The long blonde hair swishes around his shoulders and makes Jean feel unsettled.

“Damn,” Jean mutters, dropping his head slightly.

“It’s alright, Jean.”

He raises his head again to look across at Armin. They’ve become good friends over the past few months. They’ve gone on dangerous missions together, they’ve made plans together, strategized and grown as soldiers. Somehow, sitting here tied to chairs, staring at Armin wearing a dress, seems entirely backward.

“It’ll be fine,” Armin says again. “Someone will come soon. They just need us to stall until they can hide Eren and Krista someplace safe.”

Jean knows this, he’s heard it over and over again, first from Commander Erwin and then in his own head for the entirety of the carriage ride to the warehouse while the MP tied him down and prodded him with their rifles, calling him “Eren Jaegar.”

 _“Don’t try anything, Jaegar,”_ the squad leader growled at Jean when they first pulled him and Armin off of the street. They tossed him down in the corner of the carriage and jammed their guns in his face. He couldn’t even see Armin, there were too many soldiers blocking the line of sight. They stared down at him with fear and disgust written across their faces, like they were looking down at an animal.

 _This is how Eren must feel all the time,_ Jean had thought as his heart started to pound. Before long the carriage stopped and the soldiers grabbed him by the shirt and yanked him out of the carriage. He tumbled to his knees and when the blinding pain subsided the first thing he did was look for Armin. When he finally caught sight of him, Jean saw that they were dragging him off by the fake blonde ponytail. All thoughts of pain or anger had immediately vanished and all he could think about was that ponytail staying in place. What if it came off? What if they discovered that Armin was actually a boy? What if the MP figured out that they were Jean Kirstein and Armin Arlert instead of Eren Jaegar and Krista Lenz?

And now, with the realization that they were completely helpless until someone came to rescue them, those questions carry even more weight.

The sounds of footsteps drawing near cuts into their thoughts. Armin casts one quick look in Jean’s direction. There is nervousness in those blue eyes. When they flick away, Jean feels like he’s lost something.

There is only one pair of feet. Clip clop, clip cop. They round the corner. Armin hangs his head, trying to hide his face from the approaching figure. Jean considers doing the same but then he changes his mind. Better to draw attention away from Armin. If the soldiers notice that he’s a boy, then the whole operation will be jeopardized.

“There’s my favorite prisoners!” comes the voice of one soldier. Jean turns his head to the right and sees the man walking around him. He stands in between them, blocking his view of Armin once again. He is a large man in his fifties, an old soldier whose jacket hardly fits. There is a look about him that makes Jean feel uncomfortable. His head is too small. His top is too fat. He nearly jiggles when he walks.

“The brass have been after you two for a long time now, you know that?” the man says almost happily. He’s look at Jean. “It feels nice to finally have you here.”

Jean stares back at him, trying to maintain an expressionless face. Who the hell is this bozo? He looks like an old geezer not a squad leader…not even a soldier.

He stops looking at Jean and turns to face Armin. Something changes in his posture. “My, my!” he practically cries. Armin’s head pops up. His brows knit up in surprise when he sees the large man. This is not what he was expecting. “Such a pretty face!” the man gasps, and Armin instantly regrets looking up.

He walks around the back of Armin’s chair. Jean watches, feeling his stomach sink when the man reaches out and _pets_ Armin’s long blonde hair. “So beautiful,” the man goes on, stroking the blonde lengths and running the tips of his fingers through the soft fringes surrounding the boy’s face. Armin’s eyes are wide. The sausage-like fingers brush against his temples.

 _What the hell is he doing?_ Jean wonders, starting to feel anger prick at the edges of his mind. He looks away from the man’s hands wandering over Armin’s head and watches his friend’s face instead. But that’s even worse.

Armin is looking down, his eyes cast to the right—away from the man leaning over his left shoulder, exhaling foul breath against his neck, stroking his cheek. His big, blue orbs shiver in fear, newly forming tears making his eyes glimmer as the man snakes an arm around the front of his thin body and coos into his ear, “Come on, sweet thing. I want to hear your voice, since you’re such a beauty.”

Armin’s jaw starts to quiver and he tries to control it. “Come on, now,” the man half-whispers. He leans in closer and Jean sees his lips scrape over Armin’s jaw. He tilts his neck to the side, trying to escape the unnerving contact, but the man’s other hand holds his head in place. Jean sees sparks of panic flicking through Armin’s eyes as they dart around, looking anywhere but at the man, anywhere but at Jean. “Say something, darling,” the man practically begs.

Armin’s mind is working like an old clock, ticking with furious effort. How can he talk? He may be dressed like a girl but he still has the voice of a young man. It’ll give them away. When the man asks him to speak up again, Armin mutters, “Umm…” He tries to make his voice higher. He tries to figure out how to sound natural. He tries not to think about how humiliating all of this is.

But when the man’s hands wander away from his head, down onto his shoulders, his throat, his chest…Armin’s eyes stop evading contact and his gaze slams into Jean’s. He’s scared, now. Jean feels his heart drop. He’ll notice how flat Armin’s chest is!

 _We should have put padding in his shirt like Levi said,_ Jean thinks, biting his bottom lip. He sees silent, frightened tears start to fall from Armin’s wide eyes and he looks away.

 

* * *

 

“Do you understand the mission?”

Erwin’s question hung heavy in between them, like a weight. Like a big heavy joke. _A mission? Don’t make me laugh,_ Jean thought, still too surprised to be angry yet. This wasn’t a mission, it seemed more like a punishment.

_“According to our intel, the MP is going to try to take Eren and Krista into custody sometime in the next few days. They will not hesitate to use force to get them away from the Recon Corps. As you are well aware, Eren Jaegar and Krista Lenz are instrumental to our plans to retake Wall Maria. Without their powers, we can kiss our chances of victory goodbye. After much deliberation, we’ve come to the conclusion that our best option is to have the two of you offer yourselves up in their place. Arlert, you’ll disguise yourself as Krista. Jean, you’ll be Jaegar.”_

The words of Commander Erwin’s briefing stuck in Armin’s head, especially the part addressed at him. _Arlert, you’ll disguise yourself as Krista…_

He nodded his acceptance when Erwin asked for it. He said, “Yes, sir!” when the nod seemed unsatisfactory. The next thing he knew, Erwin was gone and Levi’s new team were fitting him in a long, baby blue dress.

“That works well,” he heard Levi saying. There was an amused quality to his voice, as if the simplicity with which Armin eased into women’s clothes was something to snicker at. Only he didn’t _ease_ into them. He shrank deeper into himself with every button the Recon Squad fasted down the front of his body. “No wait.” Levi raised a hand to his lips and the other soldiers paused to look at their commanding officer. “Shouldn’t we give him a little something? He’s so scrawny his chest practically caves in. What do you think, Arlert? Some padding would do you some good.”

Armin’s face fell a bit. Why? Were they trying to humiliate him? He looked up from the blue dress draping over his body and met Levi’s gaze evenly. “Is that completely necessary, sir?”

Levi shrugged. “Ehh…well I suppose not. Let’s put a cloak on him. And on Kirstein, too. The hoods will help. I want Arlert’s hair long. Someone find something.”

Jean didn’t have to dress up in anything special to pose as Eren. He stood by watching, looking agitated while Armin was transformed into a woman. He could see the smaller boy’s discomfort carefully hidden under an impassive expression.

Soon they had cloaks thrown over their shoulders and Levi stood before them, no longer joking around, saying, “I don’t know when they’ll come for you. It could be two weeks from now, it could be the second I send you out those doors. Your orders are to maintain these appearances until you are captured, and continue to do so until we come to rescue you.” He paused to look each boy in the eye in turn. “It may not seem like it, but this is an important thing that you’re doing. Your cooperation is very much appreciated. Good luck, both of you.” They all saluted one another and then the boys turned to leave.

As he walked out of HQ, Armin heard Levi call after him, “Hey, Arlert! Don’t run your mouth too much. They’ll know you’re not her.”

 

* * *

 

The MP did not come for them right away. It took over 26 hours.

“Let’s go to the market. I want some food,” Jean said at hour 3. They’d been wandering around in public for that time, literally presenting themselves as bait for any passerby’s. If the MP came looking for them, it would save everyone time and aggravation if they were easily found out in the open.

“ _And don’t struggle too much,”_ Levi had said during the final instructional encounter. _“We don’t want you getting injured if you don’t have to.”_

Jean’s suggestion to go into an even more heavily populated area did not sit well with Armin. He didn’t want to be out in public like this. Walking around as Jean’s female companion was embarrassing enough, but the starry-eyed stares he got from other men were even worse.

“Let’s eat somewhere private,” Armin returned.

“Private?” Jean laughed suggestively. “Geez, Armin! I mean, _Krista._ You’re pretty forward for a young lady.” He’d only meant it as a joke, something to lighten the tense mood, but Armin frowned angrily. Jean raised his eyebrows in surprise. “What’s the matter? Can’t wait til later?”

“Stop it, Jean!” Armin snapped, turning red.

“ _Eren_ , you mean. How could you forget my name, Krista? I’m hurt.” His tone is sticky sweat and mocking, not to be cruel—just to keep his mind off of his own anger over this ridiculously demeaning assignment.

But Armin was upset. “Cut it out _, Eren_ ,” he muttered, wrapping his arms around himself and clutching his elbows tightly. He wanted to disappear.

Jean paused long enough to notice that Armin was genuinely uncomfortable and he felt a little bad. “Just kidding. No need to be a wuss about it. Orders are orders,” he said. Armin didn’t reply.

 

And now Jean feels terrible about those words. Nausea has already started pooling in center of his chest and every little noise Armin barely makes as he tries to figure out how to get out of this makes the pool throb threateningly.

The man’s hands are wandering all over the top of him, touching his ears as he talks directly into them, rubbing his shoulders, stroking his angel fine blonde hair. “What’s the matter?” the voice has darkened a bit and Jean senses the escalation before he hears Armin’s sharp intake of breath. The man has snatched up a fistful of Armin’s hair—his real hair on the back of his scalp. “What’s wrong, darling? Cat’s got your tongue?”

The man leans in even closer and, to Jean’s horror, he stretches out his neck and nibbles on Armin’s lips. As soon as Armin feels what’s happening, he scrunches up his face in disgust. His eyes fall closed, beyond mortified.

“Hey!” Jean says, but his voice comes out too weak for the others to hear. The man doesn’t stop, even as Armin pinches his thin lips together and tries to pull them out of his reach, distorting his face into something that is most definitely male.

“Oh, she’s a feisty one!” the man exclaims, finally pulling back. Armin bends his neck down as far as he can and his face vanishes under his hair. The man turns his neck to look at Jean. He’s smiling, a sick, gleaming smirk. Jean glares at him and realizes for the first time that his own face is beat red, almost as red as Armin’s. “That’s alright,” the man’s voice lowers into a frightening, seductive snarl, “I like feisty little angels.”

Jean’s eyes widen and his mind stops working for a split second. _Armin…_

 

**A/N: Helloooo everyone~ This is my first attempt at an Armin/Jean fic. I tried to keep this chapter very "within the bounds" of the cannon. Please comments and let me know what you think. The next chapter will be uploaded in a few days.**

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

_What should I do? What_ can _I do?_ Armin’s mind races at speeds rivaling the time when he had to talk the Garrison out of killing Eren. That voice, that tone, those _words!_

_“That’s alright, I like feisty little angels.”_

His eyes are wet but his mouth is dry. His trembling lips cannot close, he’s too frightened. The man is returning, the hands find their way back to his head and jerk it up to meet him. Armin’s eyes are wide, quivering blue orbs staring up at that old, pudgy face, too scared to look away. The hand that clasps his jaw is hurting him.

“What’s the point of that pretty little mouth if you won’t talk to me? Hmm?”

_“Our future is outside of the walls! Can’t you see that? If we just sit in here for the rest of our lives then we’ll never get to see all of the neat stuff that’s out there!” He speaks with great pomp and conviction for a child, face glowing with excitement. His little fists flop around as he speaks._

_The other boys don’t like what he has to say._

_“Shut up, loser!” one of them says, kicking him in the gut. He was already lying on the ground, sprawled out again due to their shoving. He gives a muffled shout of pain and looks up at the boys. Why can’t they see what he sees? And regardless, why were they always hitting him? He can stand the punches, he can even handle being pushed down, but it really hurts when they kick him. He bites his lips, not wanting to cry in front of them._

_“What’s the point of hitting me so much?” he grits, fighting hard not to writhe. “You know I’m right. Think about how great it would be to—“_

_Another kick, this one in between his legs, and it shuts him up for a little while at least._

_“What’s the point of blabbering on so much?” says one._

_“You’re crazy!” says another._

_A third crouches down and grabs the little blonde boy by the throat. “My dad says you’re a_ heretic _,” he spits. Armin flinches at the words. The boy squeezes the soft flesh of Armin’s scrawny neck until he squeaks. Then all the boys laugh._

_“Like a little mouse! Hey, you know what?” begins the tallest, “Somebody should teach him to give head. That’d be something useful for that big mouth of his.”_

_Armin perks up at the idea of a suggestion in which he can become useful to other people. “I’m a fast learner,” he says innocently, smiling through the pain. He’s eight years old and has no idea what they mean._

_The boys are silent for a second, staring at him, then at each other. They explode with laughter. His throat is released. Someone kicks him and he falls from his elbow to his face._

The man let’s go of Armin’s jaw and smacks him too fast to register. Armin doesn’t even see the hand, he only feels the familiar sting. “What’s your name?” the man demands, glaring deep into the blue eyes.

“Ka—Krista…” Armin stammers in the most natural sounding feminine voice that he can muster. His voice waivers.

He is struck again, even harder this time. “I already know that, dumb bitch. See? Talking’s _fun_.” The left side of Armin’s face has turned splotchy red. With a swing of his leg, the man is suddenly straddling Armin’s legs. Then he plops down on his lap.

He’s heavy. _Fuck_ , he’s heavy. Armin gasps at the weight. His legs are pinned, crushed, getting smeared into the splintered chair. He wants to scream but he doesn’t dare. He doesn’t have the heart to imitate a woman’s shriek.

_“No!” he cries as soon as he understands their meaning. There are hands on his head, on his shoulders, his wrists. There is a foot on the small of his back, pushing him down, pushing him toward the tall boy who has unbuttoned his pants._

_He struggles and fights but there are many of them and only one small Armin. His knees scrape raw on the stones of the street and it hurts. His chest hurts. Finally he lets his body go limp and the tears break free. He’s sobbing like a baby and shaking violently under their hands._

_They laugh at him. They call him a little girl. But they don’t have the heart to do it and they release him. “Fucking tease,” says the tall one, buttoning things up again. He’s angry so he beats the boy back down into a corner._

When the man grabs Armin’s face again and pulls him against himself, Armin’s expression goes blank. His eyes empty out and stare at nothing. Those fat lips, like two slugs, grind up against his own. He sits, frozen, trying to focus on the pain in his legs instead of the aching sickness in the middle of his chest.

Ten feet away, Jean can’t see anything but Armin’s shins and feet sticking out from the hulking form of the man on his lap. _Oh no! He’ll…he’ll feel it! He’ll know he’s a boy._

Jean’s head buzzes with fears and he feels himself sweating. How could the man not realize that Armin is a boy? He’s sitting right on his lap, his hands have wandered all down the front of him. There are no breasts, no womanly figure, not to mention the lump in between the boy’s clamped thighs. How could he _not_ realize?

And then—a new thought shocks Jean out of the buzz. _Maybe he_ does _realize and he’s playing with us._

A noise of pain escapes Armin’s lips. Jean hasn’t seen what the man did to him, he can’t see, he can’t even bring himself to look in that direction. He stares down at his own lap. _Where are they? They should have come for us by now…What would Eren do?_ He grits his teeth at the thought, but—after all—he is supposed to be Eren Jaegar. Maybe he should start thinking like the little bastard.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Jean snarls at the man. Yes, Eren was always confronting people like that. “Get off of— _her_ , now!”

“Shut it, boy.”

Jean’s face scrunches up angrily. “I said _get off_! You’d better leave her alone, or else.”

The man laughs in Armin’s face. “Or else what?”

“Or else your superior officers will have your balls for breakfast! We’re valuable test samples, isn’t that right?” Jean spits disdainfully. “Why’d you bag us off of the street anyway? Just to play with her tits? What the hell kind of soldier are you?!”

Suddenly the weight disappears. Armin’s eyes focus again and he sees that the man has swung his leg back around and is leaving him. _Thank God,_ he thinks, but it’s a hollow respite.

“I wasn’t at your first trial,” Armin hears the fat man saying as he turns his back on him and faces Jean, “but I heard that you’re a big mouth, too. Apparently it’s true.”

Now that the man is looking at him, Jean feels his tenacity slipping through his hands. _Fuck_ , he thinks, _don’t look scared._ But the man is big, his face is fat and hard. He’s like a small Titan—ugly and terrifying. His eyes are dark and shiny and staring straight at him. His heart starts to pound. _If there’s any chance that he hasn’t realized yet….gotta keep him away from Armin._ Jean gulps down the lump in his throat and tries one more time.

“Who’s in charge here anyway? Because he’s gonna have to answer to Commander Erwin. This is—“ He doesn’t have a chance to finish the sentence before the man kicks him square in the chest and sends the chair tumbling backward.

Jean yells in pain as the crushing weight of the chair and his own body all land on his upper arms, but he doesn’t even get a moment to recover. The man towers above him in a blink. “You’re right, we brought you here to _experiment_ on you. Since you’re so eager…” he kicks Jean and the chair turns on its side. “Let’s get started right away, then.”

 

* * *

 

_No not again….not again…._

He had gone numb, gone blank, accepted it. Now he was awake again and he had returned to an even worse reality. Once again he had to be protected by someone else. Once again, Armin Arlert was a burden.

Across the room Jean is on the ground, the left side of his face grinds into the filthy warehouse floor, the bridge of his nose crinkles angrily, and his teeth grit from the pain. The man is talking. He is looking down at Jean with a hungry, amused look on his face and saying things that Armin cannot understand. Words get lost in the fringe, all Armin can see is the knife.

And then something catches. “They say you can re-grow whole limbs? Right, Eren?”

Jean’s face flickers and then stills. The man shrugs in the silence. “Supposed to be experimenting, right, hot shot?” He crouches down and grabs Jean’s right hand, still tied to the chair. “I’m curious.”

Armin stares in horror as the man rubs each one of Jean’s fingers in turn, as if trying to decide which interests him. He mutters things that Armin can’t hear. Jean doesn’t bother trying to pull his hand away, there’s no where for it to go. Then, slowly, the man’s hand crawls upward like a spider and settles on the wrist.

“What are you doing?” Jean growls through his teeth. It’s the first thing he’s said in minutes. His voice is odd and Armin recognizes the fear seeping out.

“Let’s give it a try,” says the man. “Should be interesting for both of us.” And he presses the small blade just under the bone in Jean’s wrist.

“No!” Armin gasps.

_Where are they? What’s taking them so damn long? They should be here by now!_

The man starts sawing slowly. It such a small blade that the strokes, even though applied with great force, do little damage. But it hurts like hell and the blood starts trickling down Jean’s fingers immediately. He groans and groans. He can’t still the heaving of his chest as the blade cuts deeper in. He bites down a scream. His right eye finds Armin and sees the boy shaking, staring, pale as a ghost.

 _It’s too small…it’s too dull. Not only will it never grow back—he’ll bleed out!_ Armin feels the acidic urge to vomit and looks away. He cannot stomach this. Not when it’s all his fault. _He shouldn’t have spoken up for me,_ he thinks, and at that moment Jean’s tattered scream escapes.

It’s too deep, now. It hurts too much. Jean turns his face against the floor and his eyes slam shut. The blood bubbles against the blade.

Armin screams, “Stop!”

Jean’s shoulders hunch forward as far as they can and he lets out a sob. _Don’t, Armin…_

“Stop it! Stop, _please!_ ”Armin yells as loud as his shaking voice can manage. “It won’t grow back! Please, it’s pointless, the hand won’t re-grow. He’s not a Titan.”

“What?” The knife pauses, buried horizontally in the Jean’s wrist. Crimson drops—big and heavy—fall from the handle and stain the hands of both men. In the silence, Jean’s sobs come out dry.

“Don’t,” he heaves.

But Armin can’t allow this. He simply won’t. “He’s not Eren Jaegar.”

The mission...Jean moans because everything has fallen apart. It was a crap shoot to begin with, and now it's all been for nothing. The man pulls the knife out with a jerk and a sloshing spray of blood follows. Armin can see the pain written all over Jean’s face, making his whole body stiff. _I had to tell him, I had too._

“He’s not…Eren Jaegar?” the man repeats, not sounding as dubious as Armin had expected.

“N—no, he’s n—not.” _Why is he looking at me like that? Is that…a smile?_ “You g—got the wrong people. That’s Jean Kirstein and I’m—“

“Not Krista Lenz, I’m assuming.”

Armin can’t help but be terrified of the strange, amused expression on the man’s face. His throat constricts and he finds that he can’t get the word out. So he just nods his answer. A smile, the one that had been tickling the fat face for so long, finally emerges. And his words chill Armin to the bone.

“I already know that…dumb bitch.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

“What is taking so long?” Mikasa grumbles. They’ve been sitting around waiting for Erwin’s order for the past several hours. As far as they’d heard, things were progressing smoothly. An asset reported that Jean and Armin had been captured by the MP just like they planned. As soon as that was confirmed, Eren and Krista were whisked away to a more secure location, and now they could go rescue the others. Or at least—she _thought_ that they could go rescue the others. That had been the original plan, right? So then why the hell hadn’t Erwin cleared them yet?

At the other end of the table, Levi sits with a tea cup in his hand, staring grimly down at the wooden surface. He looks slightly more glum than usual, which is enough to tell Mikasa that he’s getting worried too.

“Corporal,” Mikasa ventures, “do you know what’s going on?”

It’s a stupid question, really, since they’ve both been sitting at the same table together for some time now, but perhaps he had originally been given some piece of information that Erwin hadn’t told anyone else.

“We’re waiting for Commander Erwin’s order to move,” Levi says, taking a sip of his drink. His mannerisms are calm, but Mikasa can sense his unease. His shoulders are more tense than usual, so when he raises the cup to his lips it seems very robotic.

“But sir….I mean, it’s been hours.”

This seems to annoy Levi. He’s already tense, he’s already worried. The last thing he needs now is Mikasa tempting him into insubordination. He has always trusted Erwin. After all, it was Erwin who brought him into the fold in the first place. It was Erwin who had made something out of Levi’s downward spiraling life. And ever since that day, Levi had gone along with the Commander’s orders without question.

But this mission….something just seemed off about it. Right from the beginning, Levi had felt a sense of uneasiness.

_“We have to get Eren somewhere safe,” Levi said during one of his evening briefings in the Commander’s office. “We can’t let him get into their hands. We just can’t.” He had to fight to keep the usual tone of indifference in his voice. The idea of those men dissecting Eren made him feel sick to his stomach._

_“And Krista, too.”_

_“Huh?”_

_Erwin flashed him a raw smile. “We have to get Krista somewhere safe, as well. Not just Eren.”_

_Levi turned his face away. “That’s what I meant, of course.” He heard Erwin shuffling some papers around on his desk. For a long time, the two men remained silent, the slight awkwardness of Levi’s slip-up permeating the atmosphere. Finally, Erwin’s voice came again, slow and steady._

_“I think I’ve come up with a good plan. I’ve been thinking about these matters for the last few days now. Obviously we want to keep the Titan-shifters in our custody. That’s important. But at the same time, the Recon Corp cannot be seen publically going against the MP. We need Eren and Krista, but not enough to get shut down on treason charges.”_

_Levi turned back around to face the Commander, listening intently as he went on._

_“So here’s what we will do. We have two of the younger soldiers disguise themselves as Eren and Krista and allow themselves to be captured. While the MP is distracted with the imposters, we can quickly get the real Titan-shifters someplace safe.”_

_“What about the imposters?” Levi replied tonelessly. “They’ll be killed.”_

_“Not necessarily. We can play it off as if we’ve ‘realized’ that two of our soldiers are missing, and go after them. No one will fault us for rescuing innocent men from a mistaken death.”_

_Levi thought it over for a moment. It was a plausible plan. A good plan, even. It would ensure Eren’s safety, but he couldn’t help but feel that is would seriously endanger the lives of the two imposters. “And who would you choose for this mission?” he asked._

_“We’ll need a boy and a girl,” Erwin said, touching his chin as he thought about it. “Kirstein looks similar, don’t you think?”_

_He didn’t think so. They were of similar build, maybe, though Jean was quite a bit taller. But in Levi’s mind, Jean’s face could never be compared to Eren’s innocent yet fiery countenance and distinct emerald eyes. Still, those weren’t the kind of concerns he could bring before his Commander, so he reluctantly agreed. “Yes, Kirstein would do fine.”_

_“And for Krista…I’m not sure.”_

_“Not Mikasa,” Levi said, quickly thinking of the first female recruit that came to mind. Her oriental looks could never be mistaken for Krista._

_“No,” Erwin frowned. “It’s a shame that Annie isn’t useful to us anymore.”_

_No, Annie’s blonde locks were useless to them now. Blonde locks! That’s it. “Arlert,” Levi said, sounding certain._

_“Armin Arlert?” Erwin repeated dubiously._

_“He looks very similar to Krista, actually,” Levi assured him, growing more confident in his choice as he spoke. Armin was always trying to hang out with Eren when Levi wasn’t looking, but he’d caught him now and then and had gotten plenty of good looks at the boy’s nervous, guilty face. “The blonde hair, the thin build…even his face, actually.” Erwin thought about it for a moment and then agreed._

_“So what do you think?”_

_Levi sighed. There was no denying it: once again Erwin had come up with the best possible solution, but once again that solution would probably lead to sacrificial deaths. It seemed to be a pattern with Erwin’s planning. Still, Levi had no choice but to agree to this if he wanted Eren to be safe._

Mikasa’s heavy sigh tears Levi away from his thoughts. He looks down and finds his tea cup empty. “It’s been a long time, sir,” Mikasa is saying. She’s immensely relieved that Eren is safe, but now her worries turn to Armin. He could be in trouble. “If we don’t go after them soon…well, I’m just afraid of what will happen to them.”

Putting the empty tea cup down, he says, “I understand how you feel.” Should he go ask Erwin what’s going on? Should he try to speed things up?

But Erwin’s words echo in his mind, holding him still in the chair. _“Stay here and don’t make any moves until I send word to you.”_

* * *

 

Jean has felt pain before. During their years of military training he had endured numerous injuries just like everyone else—even some serious injuries. But this feels entirely different. Even more than the pain, he feels cold, nauseating waves of fear flooding through his body as the blood pours from his wrist, pooling into his curved palm before dripping into the puddle on the warehouse floor.

 _Calm down, Jean, you have to calm down_ , he tells himself. His tries desperately to slow his racing heart and regain control of his breathing, knowing that the faster his heart pounds the faster his blood will escape him. He does his best not to think about how extensive the damage may be, because even the slightest thought that he might lose his hand for Eren Jaegar’s sake is unbearable. But still, the amount of pain tells him that the cut is deep into his bone. That much is undeniable.

As he fights to get control of his breathing, he hears Armin’s voice. The boy sounds far beyond flustered, perhaps on the verge of a complete breakdown. “Wha-what are you saying?! If you already knew that…then why—?”

The man cuts him off. “Ahh! So talkative now, isn’t she? No, I know you’re not them. If you were, do you really think I’d be the only one in here? There’d be three dozen armed guards in here to keep those freaks in line.”

Yes, that seemed true. If he really was Krista, Armin could have easily escaped by now. One soldier would never be enough to contain them. Why hadn’t he noticed this sign before? Frustration grips him, making it hard to speak. So this whole operation has been a complete failure. And now Jean’s life is in danger for no reason. There is a frightening amount of blood on the floor already…

“How did you know?” Armin chokes out, but the man’s manic grin only grows as he rambles on,

“We’ll have to answer to Commander Erwin?” he laughs, the mockery clear in his voice now. “Is that what you said, girl? Well…then I think this is the perfect opportunity to send that insubordinate little bastard a message. Don’t you think?”

Armin’s mouth falls open. _Oh my god…shit…_ He’s trembling in fear now. His mind does not even register the fact that he’s still being called “girl.” _This is bad! Really, really bad…_

“Don’t fuck with the MP! God damn…he should know better than this, he’s a career man,” the fat man is saying, pacing around like a beast ready to strike somewhere, anywhere. Armin watches in apprehensive terror. What will he do? What is he thinking? “That’s what I should do, send you both back with “don’t fuck with the MP” carved into your fucking faces. How’s that, beautiful?”

He has grabbed Armin by the face again and holds him tightly, making his face contort in pain as his fingernails dig into the soft flesh. “How about it?” Armin’s breath catches in his throat when the knife, coated red with Jean’s blood is raised to hover in front of his face.

“D-don’t,” Armin stammers pathetically. “We’re just following orders…please…”

There is something so frightening in the man’s face that Armin can barely stand to look at him. Who _is_ he? Surely he can’t be a ranking member of the MP, so why would they let him have at their prisoners? His lips are curled back in that disturbing sneer and his eyes flash with an intensity that makes Armin shutter against the ropes that hold him.

The knife comes closer and closer to his face until Armin has to stop looking at it because he is too cross eyed to see anything. “Please don’t,” he says again, as strong as he can. When his lips part to speak, the blade slips in between them. Armin freezes, the words dying in his throat as he feels the wet, warm metal resting the long way on his bottom lip and soon he can taste the metallic twang of Jean’s blood. His eyes widen, fighting the urge to move his mouth in an attempt to rid himself of the object.

 _I have to stay calm,_ Armin thinks. _I have to be really careful not to anger him even more._

The man stares at his face for a long time, letting the blade quiver slightly against his mouth. Armin’s tongue has retreated to the back of his mouth, hoping to avoid harm. This wouldn’t be the first time someone had threatened to cut his tongue out…

But to his great relief, the next thing he heard was the man saying, “No, your face is too beautiful to mar like that.” He slowly removes the knife from between Armin’s lips, scraping along the pink flesh as he goes, slicking the remnants of Jean’s blood into his mouth. One spare drop dribbles down Armin’s chin, leaving a bright red trail in its wake.

And then the knife is gone and the man has turned away. “You.”

When Jean makes an apprehensive sound—something between a defeated moan and a miserable sob—Armin realizes that he’s made yet another mistake. He immediately lunges forward in his chair, shouting after the man, “Don’t hurt him! Please! Come on, there’s no reason to hurt anyone. This is all just a big mistake!”

The man crouches down and grabs at Jean’s wrist again. Thinking he’s going to start sawing through the bone once more, Jean starts to beg. He can’t help it. Pride be damned, he refuses to lose his hand over this stupid mission! “No, no! No, please, don’t do it! Come on, _please_! Anything but this.”

The man laughs at him and Jean feels the ropes that bind him fall away. _What?_ “You’re more of a little girl than she is,” the man sneers. “Pathetic.” He grabs Jean by the damaged wrist and yanks him to his feet.

He’s light headed and swooning, falling against the man helplessly, gritting back shrieks of pain as that fat hand clutches the wound like a vice. “Oww,” he groans, stumbling back. With a swift kick, the man sends Jean back to the ground in a heap.

“Stop it!” Armin yells.

“Anything but this, huh?” the man repeats, landing another kick on Jean’s ribs. He curls up instinctively. “Pathetic!” the man spits again. “What kind of people are the Survey Legion taking on these days? Pussy boys and scrawny little girls? What a joke.”

Suddenly, he is crouched down again, hovering over Jean’s covering, bleeding form. One, two punches to the face and the world tilts dangerously. Jean has already lost enough blood to make this torturous. His body goes limp.

And then he feels hands on his waist, pulling at his belts, finger tips slipping under the waist band, and Armin is shouting again, his voice rising dangerously. “What are you doing?!”

“Anything but this, anything but this,” the man practically cackles, tearing at Jean’s pants without hesitance. “Still mean it, boy?”

Armin gasps out a sob, his eyes filling with tears as the man grabs Jean by the throat and forces him onto his stomach. His arms are stretched out above his head, the right wrist already forming a new puddle, and his fingers twitch in it, flicking red droplets. When the man yanks Jean’s pant down to his knees, baring his pale backside to the stale warehouse air, Armin feels his heart stop. “No!” Armin yells desperately.

_This can’t happen. This can’t be my fault. Jean!_

Jean can hardly even hear Armin anymore. Too much blood has been shed and Jean’s nose is also bleeding from the punches. The man jabs probing fingers into the boy and chuckles at the animalistic sound that he makes, like a stuck pig. He turns his face down the ground and starts to cry again, unable to offer up any resistance in his weakened state.

Armin pleads for him. He offers up any logical reason that he can think of, any excuse, any bargain. “You don’t have to do this!” “He hasn’t done anything wrong.” “We’re just following orders, _please_!” “Look at him! Please!! He’s in no condition…he’s…he’s _bleeding_ to death, can’t you see that?! He needs medical attention! _Please_ you _have to_ stop!!”

But the man doesn’t stop, instead he undoes his own pants to reveal a vicious looking, veiny erection, fat enough to match the rest of his body. Armin wails out a broken moan and hangs his head. “ _Please….don’t do this._ ”

Pulling his fingers out of Jean’s tormented opening, the man uses his knee to push the boy’s thighs apart. One of his fat hands, stained with blood and filth, slaps down on the back of Jean’s neck and holds him flat against the ground. He whimpers softly, too light headed to think anymore. But when the man stabs into him, he cannot control his wails of pain. Loud and long, bubbling from choking on blood, punching out of his lungs with every merciless thrust.

“STOP!! Stop!! Stop! Stop….stop…please just….stop….” Armin begs, quieter and quieter as his own tears strangle sound away from him.

After a minute or two, Jean’s cries die down and then stop completely. Now each thrust rocks a limp, silent body, scraping it over the floor. And all that can be heard is the sound of flesh slapping against flesh, mingled with Armin’s crying.

At last, the man shoot his release into Jean’s motionless body. When he pulls out, a string of milky white liquid follows his softening member, dripping alongside more bright scarlet blood that oozes from the torn opening.

Armin’s head hangs low. His wrists are bloody from struggling. He swallows down a wave of vomit and tears drip from his trembling chin. The man buttons his pants back up and slowly rises. A few moments later, Armin feels those fat, sweaty hands on his own. He flinches terribly, but no harm comes to him. Instead, his own ropes fall loose and his hands are suddenly free.

Normally he would have been terrified. He would have worried for his own safety, assuming that he would soon meet the same fate. But not now. He didn’t care about any of that now. How could he, after seeing Jean ravished in such a way?

Jean…his partner, his leader, his _friend_. Jean had never done anything to deserve this. He had been a good, fair boy who—despite his own weaknesses—had always done his best for others. _How could this have happened?_ Armin’s mind is numb and his heart contracts with each gut-wrenching sob that he cannot contain.

It seems that the man’s manic anger has faded. After he cuts Armin’s hands free, he walks away from him. He walks past Jean without even a glance in the boy’s direction. And just before he leaves the room, he stops to say, “This is what happens when you fuck around with the MP. And when you go crawling back to your precious Commander Erwin, you can tell him just that.”

 

_A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Comments and thoughts are always appreciated. I will post a new chapter in a few days._

 


	4. Chapter 4

_Erwin finally sent a man to relay his message. By the time the soldier burst through the doors into the room where Levi and Mikasa sat, it had already been over two hours. “Lance Corporal! Commander Erwin says that it’s time. You may now move into step three of the mission.”_

_Step one: Disguise Arlert and Kirstein and offer them up for capture. Step Two: Relocate Jaegar and Lenz while the MP is preoccupied. Step Three: Reconnaissance._

_“Finally! Thank God…” Mikasa muttered, rising and strapping her gear on at once. Levi gets up as well, but he isn’t relieved. He’s not foolish and he’s certainly not an optimist. Erwin waited so long…it’s probably too late by now._

“Jean!” Armin cries, falling forward from the chair and landing on his hands and knees. “Jean!” He scrambles across the room on all fours, doubting that his shaking legs will hold him upright. There’s blood spattered across the floor, but Armin crawls on through it to get to Jean. The light blue dress drags along, turning red.

He’s still not responsive when Armin collapses beside him, weak from crying, reaching out shaking hands that hover because they are too frightened to touch him. Too embarrassed to lay a finger on the person that had suffered like that all thanks to Armin’s incompetence. “Jean,” he says again and his voice breaks on the name.

He can see the shallow rise and fall of Jean’s chest moving against the floor, which means that the boy is still alive at the very least. That makes Armin cry even more. Out of relief? Out of shock? Or perhaps because this means that Jean will have to live with this for the rest of his life, and this means that Armin will have to fight the urge to kill himself every time he looks him in the eye…

Finally the hands find their courage. Putting his feelings aside, Armin rubs Jean’s back, saying, “Jean, Jean come on! Look at me.”

Jean’s eye lids flutter half way open at the sound of his friend’s voice. His eyes are glazed over with pain, his face is pale and beaded with a cold sweat. “Oh Jean…I’m so sorry,” Armin practically croaks out. “I’m so sorry.” His eyes flicker over Jean’s body, too ashamed to linger. His arms, still stretched out above his head, lie in a puddle of redness which has slowly stopped growing. The cut in his wrist is deep. It goes halfway in from the far side of his wrist by the pinky going inward. His face is swollen, his nose clearly broken by the man’s fists. But to Armin, the worst of all is that he’s still naked from waist to ankle where his pants are bunched up, his legs are spread as far apart as the taught fabric will allow, and all manner of bodily fluids and filth have soiled his inner thighs.

“Ar…min…”

Jean’s voice is so weak and small that Armin would never have recognized it if he wasn’t lying there right in front of him. “Shhh don’t try to talk,” Armin urges him, patting his back gently. “Save your strength—“

“Armin—“

“No! Don’t talk, alright? You’re going to be fine. I’m gonna…” he grabs the hem of the blue dress that has twisted around his body, mocking him, and he tries to tear it. He can use the material to wrap up Jean’s wrist. “I’m gonna…gonna…” he fights with the material but his shaking hands can’t even manage to rip it. “I…I can…” But he can’t. He jerks at the fabric until his shoulders ache but nothing gives. “Damn it!” he cries and his sobbing starts again, forcing him onto his elbows. He clutches his head, squeezing his blonde hair in tight fists. “Damn it, damn it! Why am I _so_ —“

“Armin.”

“— _useless_!”

Jean’s eyes close again but Armin does not notice through his haze of tears. His fingers work on their own, tearing at his hair, shoulders shaking violently until something new and terrifying pulls him out of the daze. The door has opened again and this time there are more than one pair of feet.

Cliclip Cloclop. Cliclip Cloclop. Footsteps entering the room slowly, in such strong contrast to the frantic pounding of Amrin’s heart. His head pops up, eyes wide and mouth hanging open in horror. Two men come toward them—new men in uniform.

 _No! Nothing else, they can’t do anything else to him!_ Armin throws his thin body down on top of Jean’s, wrapping his arms around the other boy and burying his face against his back. In the second of silence that follows, Armin hears the shrieking wires of 3D maneuver gear before the warehouse window shatters above them. He tenses his body, trying to shield Jean from the shattered glass that rains down on them.

“What the hell is going on here?”

The voice belongs to Levi, as snappy and cold as ever. Armin does not look up. He keeps his head buried between Jean’s shoulder blades and listens, his breath hissing in and out in a panic.

Someone is rushing toward him and he tenses again, his fingers digging into Jean. “No!” Armin gasps, but it’s Mikasa’s voice that greets him next. She speaks with a gentle urgency,

“Armin, what happened?” Her hands fall on him, trying to pry him off of Jean’s body. “Come on, get up.” He cannot comply, so he has to physically lift him up.

_Mikasa….Corporal Levi…they’re here._

He can hear Mikasa talking to him but he doesn’t know what she’s saying. She stares at his face with great concern in her eyes and when he doesn’t answer she turns to Jean. Levi is arguing with the other men a few yards away. Armin glances in their direction just in time to see one of them _slap_ Levi across the face.

Levi does not flinch. He doesn’t lunge back at them like Armin expected. Instead, he stares at the men impatiently, saying nothing. “And you can tell your commander that the next time he wants to send children over to play, we’ll have a welcoming party all ready for them. Understand?” one of them demands, his voice cold and condescending, as if _Levi_ is the scum of the earth instead of the man who just raped an innocent young soldier.

“Armin!” Mikasa’s loud words pull Armin back to the scene in front of him. “Are you hurt?”

Hurt? He blinks, staring into Mikasa’s pretty, unblemished face. Hurt…. “No, I’m not hurt,” he says slowly, tonelessly. His breathing is melodic and slow now as he succumbs to shock.

“There’s blood on your mouth,” she says, reaching out and swiping at the trail of blood that had dribbled down his chin.

“It’s….Jean’s,” he stammers.

“Ackerman.” Levi stalks over to the jumble of young soldiers on the ground. The other men have left again. “Get him up. We need to get Kirstein some help. Now.”

“Come on, Armin,” Mikasa says, extending her hand to help him up. He stares at it, his face expressionless except for the rivers of tears that stream silently down his cheeks. Levi grunts impatiently and pulls him up by the shoulder. Jean looks to be in bad shape. They don’t have time for self-pity.

“Carry him,” Levi orders. He tears a strip of fabric from the bottom of his own cloak as if it were a sheet of paper and bends down to wrap Jean’s wrist as tightly as he can. Then he slings the rest of the cloak off of his shoulders and wraps Jean in it, scooping him up into his arms with only minimal effort. It’s harder for Mikasa to lift Armin, but she manages.

Armin’s eyes close. He hears the whistle of the 3D gear once more and feels himself launch through the air, Mikasa’s arm wrapped tightly around him.

 

_**A/N: I know that this is a short section. I meant to include it in the previous chapter, but there was an error. Thanks to everyone who has stuck with this story. I really appreciate feedback, as this can be difficult to write sometimes. Sincerely, Addison.**   
_


	5. Chapter 5

Flying through the air at lighting speeds, Levi does not hesitate to use what would be considered an irresponsible amount of gas. Jean is unconscious in his arms, his neck rolled back limply, completely unresponsive as Levi snaps, “Stay with me, Kirstein. Stay with me. We’re almost there.”

_“What the hell is going on here?” Levi demanded the moment his feet touched down in the warehouse. The whistling of his cables snapping back into their containers drowned out whatever the MP officers said next, so Levi went on, “I find two of my team members are missing, track them down, and find them like this?!”_

_“Don’t even start.”_

_“Excuse me?”_

_The MP men glared at him with such condescension in their eyes, like he was something despicable. “Eren Jaegar and Krista Lenz, huh?” the taller of the two men practically barked at him. “Conspiring against the Military Police is treason against Humanity,_ Corporal _.” He spit out Levi’s title like a curse._

_Levi glanced away from them and took in the whole scene in a split second: The broken and tipped chairs, ropes cut to pieces and discarded, puddles of red that clearly came from the gruesome looking glob of blood that had taken over Kirstein’s right wrist, Arlert’s tiny frame stretched out over his motionless body, the blue dress not quite spread out enough to hide Jean’s bare legs. And that told Levi everything that he needed to know._

_Turning back to the MP men, he said with that biting edge of sarcasm so typical of him, “Well…that’s not particularly surprising. When you beat little boys senseless I’m sure they’ll say all kinds of nonsense.”_

_Slap!_

_“No, I’m sure they said exactly what you told them to.”_

_Levi narrowed his eyes at them, struggling to disregard the frustrating sting of being struck. He could kill them so easily. He could make them pay for what they’d done right then and there. But Jean needed to leave as soon as possible. So Levi simply said, “You’ll have to answer for what you’ve done here. I will personally see to that.”_

_The taller man smiled wryly at him. “So will you, Corporal. And not just to me.”_

_A muscle twitched in Levi’s jaw. He didn’t need to hear what the man would say next, he already knew. He’d been thinking it for the past few hours._

_“You’ll have to answer to that boy, too. He’ll lose that hand. You know it’s true. And then how are you going to look him in the eye and shake his hand and tell him that this was worth something?”_

_“He has another hand,” Levi growled through gritted teeth. He didn’t know what else to say. The man was right, but standing still whining about how things had unfolded wasn’t doing Jean any favors. He turned toward the young soldiers and took a step in their direction._

_He heard the man hiss behind him, “You heartless little bastard—“ and then Levi felt hands turn him around by the shoulder. “Trust me when I say, we will get those two Titan-shifters eventually. This is a dangerous game you’re playing. And you can tell your commander that the next time he wants to send children over to play, we’ll have a whole welcoming party all ready for them. Understand?”_

He does understand. He understands it all, he understands how life works and he yet he refuses to accept that Jean will lose the hand. No. They’ll get back in time. Hanji will be able to do something for him. It’ll heal.

The boy’s already lost too much else.

“Almost there,” Levi says, not expecting any response. He can hear Mikasa’s wires whizzing alongside of him. It’s a long way back to the safe house where Hange is. Levi knows that it’s very likely they are being followed, so he tries to zigzag his way back, ducking through alleyways with skillful maneuvering. Mikasa is able to keep up with him, he notes. At least that’s something to be optimistic about. Maybe Mikasa will outlive him and take his place as Humanity’s Strongest. That would be a welcome end.

The safe house comes screaming into view and Levi has to make adjustments quickly in order to land there. He tries to touch down as gently as possible so that Jean won’t get jostled around any more than necessary. Mikasa’s boots click on the cobblestone a second later. She puts Armin down and pulls his arm over her shoulders.

“Hange!” Levi calls. His hands are full so Mikasa rushes to open the door. It flies open and bangs against the far wall. She hustles through as fast as she can, pulling Armin along, and makes way for Levi. He has to turn sideways as he walks in so as to avoid hitting Jean’s head against the doorframe. “Hange!” This time he fully yells her name.

“I’m here, I’m here!”

He hadn’t seen her there. Armin and Mikasa had blocked his line of sight. Now she came rushing around them. She didn’t gasp at the sight of Jean. There wasn’t much to see since Levi had wrapped him up in the cloak, but her silence was enough to tell them all that she was aware of the situation’s gravity.

Or perhaps not. Maybe her lack of a reaction meant that this had been expected—maybe even that this was _better_ than they’d expected. Perhaps seeing the two of them alive was the shock, not seeing Jean like this.

“He needs immediate attention," Levi commands, and Hange wastes no time in leading him into another room where there’s a bed to lay Jean down. Armin stares after them, watching Jean’s head bounce slightly with every step Levi takes. He watches until they disappear behind a door and Jean is gone.

Alone in the front room, Mikasa shifts Armin’s weight so that he has to stand more on his own. “Armin, are you alright?” she asks, “Can you talk?”

He hangs against her body, still and silent. He’s not shaking anymore. He is staring at the closed door where Jean is. The question is as present and real in his head as that door is to his eyes: What kind of Jean will reemerge from that door…if any…?

“Armin?” she bends her neck to get a better look at his face but before she can snap him out of his trance, the door pops open and Levi comes out. He turns toward them and the door is closed again.

 _Already?_ Mikasa wonders. His cloak is gone—left in the room—and his sleeves are stained with specks and streaks of blood. He rolls them up as he walks toward Armin and Mikasa, trying to hide the redness. His face reveals nothing—whether or not Hange has said anything, whether or not he’s seen it all…whether or not he cares…

“Take Armin into another room and make sure he’s stable,” he says to Mikasa without looking at her, “and quiet. I need to move Eren and Krista. We could have been followed.”

“Yes, sir.” She starts toward the west side of the house, helping the blonde boy along. “Come on, Armin. Come on, we can do it.”

Soon they’re inside of a second bedroom. After she helps Armin sit down on the edge of the bed, she goes back to shut the door. “There, you’re safe. You can relax now,” she says softly with her back to him. When she turns to face him, she sees him staring down at the baby blue sheets with wide eyes. They are the same color as his dress.

Mikasa can’t imagine how uncomfortable Armin must be, twisted up in a woman’s dress that is stained with Jean’s blood. She considers offering to get him out of it but decides not to go too far too fast. “Let’s get this out of your hair,” she suggests, coming to sit beside him on the bed. His hair is all muffled, clearly from more than just the wind.

He flinches at her touch so her hand stalls, but in a moment he whispers, “I’m sorry. Go ahead.” Her fingers are skilled but not necessarily at removing hair extensions. It takes her a moment to figure out how things are connected. She does her best not to tug on his hair too much, but sometimes it’s unavoidable. Surprisingly he sits through it all without a peep, staring down at nothing.

And then something makes his body tense again. It’s Eren Jaegar’s voice coming from the front room, getting louder and louder as he walks.

“Where are they?”

“They’re safe. Let’s go.” Levi’s reply is much quieter than Eren and it’s hard to hear.

“But where are they? Why are we leaving? What’s going on!?” His voice rises with each question.

“We might have been followed, we—dammit, brat, don’t make me repeat myself.”

A second of silence and then, “They’re here aren’t they?” It’s an accusation, not a question. “Let me see them, now!”

“Get going, Jaegar. Don’t make me tell you again,” Levi says, threateningly, though there is something else in his voice that Mikasa can’t place.

“But—!”

“Come on, Eren,” comes Krista’s little voice.

“No! I have to…I have to see them. Where’s Armin?!”

“He’s _safe_ ,” Levi snaps.

“Armin!”

“Shut up! God, Eren, don’t—“ the sound of a scuffle, as if Levi has to restrain him—“don’t make me—“

“Armin! Jean!”

Krista’s frightened cry of, “Eren!”

“Please, _Levi_ —“

And then the unmistakable crack of Levi striking the boy down.

Then the door slams and they’re gone. Mikasa grits her teeth against the imagined image of Levi tossing Eren’s unconscious body over his shoulder and carrying him out of the house by force, Krista tagging along without argument. She shakes her head, frustrated by the whole situation, and when she glances up again Armin is crying.

 

* * *

 

Evening comes. Mikasa has coaxed Armin out of the bedroom and into the kitchen where they sit at a little ovular table. He has normal clothes on again and all traces of Jean’s blood have been washed away. She urges him periodically to take sips from the glass of juice that sits before him. “You were in shock,” she explains, “you need to get your strength back up.”

But every time he tries to drink it, he tastes nothing but the blood dripping into his mouth from the blade, so he cringes and puts the glass back down.

Mikasa worries about him. Armin has always been fragile. He still had not fully recovered from seeing his entire squad be devoured during the battle of Trost—not that anyone can ever truly recover from something like that. But Armin had _darkened_ , slightly. She worries that another emotionally traumatic experience like this one will mentally derail him…perhaps for good.

Time passes. It begins to rain. There is a clock on the wall with arms that tick every second, making the world move in slow motion. The juice painstakingly leaves the cup, revolting sip by sip, and Armin’s palms sweat as he tries to keep it down.

_I didn’t know about Eren…for all I knew, he died that day. I let him die that day. I let him get eaten right in front of me…trying to protect me…_

His hands come down from the table and knot up in his lap. He squeezes until the knuckles turn white. Mikasa rises from the chair next to his and goes to the sink to get some water. The sound of the faucet drowns out the rain for a moment.

_And now Jean…_

He squeezes his eye shut and clamps his fists tightly. The image of the knife sawing slowly through Jean’s wrist like a tease, the blurry memory of that man hurting him, violating him, mocking him, degrading him…all made hazy by his own tears.

 _Why didn’t I DO something?_ Anything _to stop that from happening! But I just sat there…completely useless…_

Mikasa sits down beside him again, water in hand. “Try to finish the juice,” she says for the millionth time. “It’ll help you feel better.”

Down the hall there are noises. Feet move. People speak softly, their words obscured by closed doors. Hange and Levi. He had returned about an hour ago after securing Eren and Krista at a new place, one that was doubtlessly full of Survey Corp men acting as guards. Guards to keep the MP out and the Titan-shifters in.

Now the door opens and footsteps emerge, headed toward the kitchen. Levi walks through the open doorframe and moves to the counter. He picks up a teacup that’s been there all day. No one has touched it or thought anything of it. He was always drinking something from the neat little cup, though no one knew what.

Mikasa seriously doubted that it was tea. She watches him come and sit down at the head of the table. _What’s happening? How is Jean doing?_ she wants to ask, but she controls herself. Not with Armin sitting here, half-unraveled.

The corporal sits completely in silence, one elbow propped up on the back of the chair, the other hand daintily holding the tea cup. He takes a sip and glances up at the two youngsters over the rim. Then he places it down again. The clock ticks on. He drinks half of the cup in silence.

Finally, quietly, matter-of-factly, he confirms, “He’s stable.”

There is an audible exhale from Armin, so tattered and shaky that they can’t tell if he is relieved or upset by this news. Levi lifts his teacup again and Mikasa watches Armin struggle with himself. Can he talk? Does he dare?

“Did he…is…is he talking?” he chokes out, looking at the bony fingers that lie clenched in his lap.

“He is.”

Armin swallows hard. The white knuckles start to blur. “What did he say?”

Levi puts the cup down. He doesn’t say anything. The hesitation is long and in it there is no sound but the rain on the roof like footsteps on the warehouse floor. Cliclip cloclop. Cliclip cloclop.

Eventually Armin looks up and finds Levi’s steady gaze beaming back at him. For the first time in his life, Armin sees something damaged inside of the corporal’s dark eyes. “He says it hurts.” Armin’s gaze falls. “And he asked about you—if you’re ok.”

That’s too much for Armin. He squeezes so hard that his knuckles crack with a loud pop. “Armin!” Mikasa gasps, reaching out to lay a hand on his shoulder.

“Dammit!” the boy groans, “why? Why the hell is he worried about me? _Me?_ After everything that just happened to him!”

“You’re his friend, Armin, of course he—“

“After I just sat there and _watched_!” he cries. He clutches the table, shivering badly as the tears come up once more.

Mikasa doesn’t try to talk again but glances up at Levi instead. “It wasn’t your fault—what happened,” says the corporal, prodded by the look in her eyes. She’s scared for him.

“I should have done something!”

“There was nothing that you could have done.”

“I…” Armin’s eyes are wide and searching, wet with tears, still searching for the answer, for how he could have helped, for how he could be useful. The answer he’d been searching for all of his life. “I…I really think that he thought I was a girl,” he says at last. He sounds ashamed to say those words, but he goes on anyway. “I should have…I could have been more… _alluring_ or…I don’t know, I could have distracted him, gotten his attention away from Jean.” _Like he did for me…_

Armin’s eyes stop roving around the room and settle on the table. The words come crashing out like a flooded creek, now released and unstoppable. “That man, the fat man kissed me. He kissed me and it was so awful, it was like…the things he said, the way he touched me, I knew right away what he wanted. But I was scared.”

Mikasa stares at her friend from behind her scarf, disturbed by his words and the way that he says them. Her eyes flicker to the corporal for just a second and she sees him listening intently, completely expressionless.

“I was so scared. It was like I was frozen. I couldn’t talk, I couldn’t fight him…I was completely helpless.” The admittance of those words makes his head hang and the tears starts to roll down his pale cheeks. “ _Helpless!_ Just like always! And Jean…he stood up for me like people always do.” He shakes his head furiously. “But if I had just…had just made that man stay—“

“Armin—“

“—just been stronger and let him keep going—“

“Armin.” Levi’s cup slams down on the table with a little thud.

“He thought I was _beautiful_!” Armin is screaming now, curling into himself, letting the tears and disgust tear his voice apart. “He wanted _me,_ you understand? But I just let him…I _allowed_ him to _rape_ Jean.” When the word ‘rape’ leaves his lips he breaks and the sobs make speech impossible.

Mikasa wraps her arms around his shaking body and holds on tight even when he tries to flinch away from her. “Shhh, Armin, it’s alright. It wasn’t your fault.”

“But it was!”

“There is no possible scenario in which that could’ve been your fault,” she argues, cradling his head with gentle but firm hands.

“I was the girl!” he weeps, “He was after me before Jean felt like he had to stick up for me, don’t you get it?! He would’ve—“ He can’t say ‘rape’ again. The word, the image, Jean’s defenseless body scraping into the warehouse floor…it made him too sick to utter it again. The juice is churning madly in his stomach. “—me. It should’ve been me. It should have been me in Trost, too, just like Ymir said! But someone always has to stick their neck out for me…” A sob catches in his chest like a hiccup and he moans in exquisite pain. “And it’s all my fault, always! Because I’m completely helpless. _Completely useless_!!”

“Armin.” Levi has leaned onto the table. His voice demands attention. “What happened today had nothing to do with sex. It was about power. It was about sending a message. Do you understand me?”

Armin does not want to look at the corporal, but the tone of his voice tells him that he has no choice. He swivels swollen, running eyes onto Levi’s face. The corporal looks strong—as always—but he has slipped slightly. He has allowed Armin a peek. He looks weary and sick, like he’s been holding back vomit and tears for a long time, much longer than Armin has. Maybe for years, even.

Levi had meant what he said about power and sending a message. It wasn’t just words to console the child. Unfortunately, Levi was all too familiar with those methods thanks to his time spent in the underworld. The “fat man” that Armin had described was doubtlessly a hired enforcer from the underground gangs, not a soldier. In fact, it was likely that Levi would have recognized the man, had he arrived in time. The thought repulsed him.

“You couldn’t have done a single thing to stop that man or to change his mind. Nothing. Understand? He was sending a message. What good would sending a message through a weak young girl do? He took Jean because he’s strong. You were supposed to be weak, Armin. That was your role. That was the mission. And for that…” Levi trails off and his gaze dips back to the teacup for just a second before returning to the boy’s puffy eyes. “For that I am sorry.”

He grits his teeth and retreats back behind the façade that is expected of Humanity’s Strongest, then slowly rises to his feet and puts his right fist over his heart.

 

_**A/N: Phew~ ok got that chapter out of the way. took me awhile, sorry guys. hopefully you enjoyed it or at least felt something after reading it. I always REALLY appreciate comments, so please leave some. and thanks so much for reading!!** _

_**\--Addison** _

 


	6. Chapter 6

Two days pass slowly while Armin migrates back and forth—from the bed to the kitchen table, from the edge of the blue sheets to the counter top where Levi's cup is perpetually perched, from one end of the hall to the other, hesitating longer and longer at Jean's door with each passing. But he never goes in.

Sometimes he leans in close to the wood and listens to the voices on the other side. It's mostly always Hange gushing away about something related to Titans. She goes inside every few hours to check on Jean and keep him company.

That doesn't make much sense to Armin. If he'd just been through something so terrible, he certainly would not want someone blabbering away to him about science and Titan problems. After all, it was all of the shifter research needs that had gotten Jean hurt in the first place, but Hange doesn't seem to understand that.

Sometimes, when he stands outside of the door long enough to be certain that no one else is in the room, Armin's hand hovers over the doorknob, waging war with his mind about whether to touch it or not. In the end, he never can.

Levi goes back and forth between the two safe houses and the Survey Corp HQ where he receives very few orders form Commander Erwin. Nothing seems to be happening—at least, nothing involving Armin. The lance corporal does not relax his strong emotional guard again. He offers Armin no further comfort, only matter-of-fact words, and even those are few and far between. But he shows that he cares by checking on Jean at least twice a day.

Mikasa stayed in the house with Armin for one full day but then she wanted to leave. She had to go be with Eren, had to make sure that he wouldn't do anything stupid, and Levi let her go.

"Don't forget to eat and drink lots of juice," she had said, glancing back at Armin from the open door. "We'll all be together again soon."

He does what she says. He sits and drinks the juice and every glass tastes more and more like fruit and less like metal. But he realizes now that while he may be weak and useless, at least he is not foolish like Mikasa.

_"We'll all be together again soon."_

Ridiculous. She means Eren, Mikasa, and Armin. The only people that she cares about. But what about Tomas? What about the rest of his squad in Trost who were ground to bits in the mouths of Titan's right before his eyes? And what about Erd, Gunther, Oluo, and Petra?

What about anyone who Levi had ever loved? No one knew about that, but surely there had been someone once, someone who is long gone by now.

What about Armin's parents? Or his grandfather? And Eren's mom…and dad? Where the hell is he, anyway? _Dead, of course,_ he thinks, _Everyone is always dead._

What about the friends that they thought they had in Annie, Bertholdt, and Reiner? Or the trust that they had had in the government, in the MP, in Humanity?

What about Marco?

_The MP did not come for them right away. It took over 26 hours._

_"Alright, we don't have to eat at the market if you don't feel like it. Let's go to an inn," Jean finally conceded after he grew bored of teasing his uncomfortable companion._

_"An inn?" Armin whined, not feeling any better about this new idea._

_"Well we can't go back to HQ. We have to be 'available for capture' at any time," Jean replied wryly. Maybe he wasn't as uncomfortable as Armin was physically—since he was in normal, male clothing—but the idea of allowing himself to willingly drop all defenses and surrender to fate outside of his control was similarly frustrating._

_They found an inn and ate a nice meal of potato stew. By the time their plates were clear and their bellies were full, darkness had already fallen. "Do you think they'll come tonight?" Armin asked, warily settling into the chair in the room they had rented. They would need somewhere to sleep for the night._

_"Dunno," Jean said with a yawn, flopping down onto the bed. All of his gear and belts were piled neatly on the dresser, his shoes and socks stripped off and discarded nearby. "Try not to worry. They'll come when they come," he went on, as much to comfort himself as to make Armin stop asking nervous questions._

_It didn't help much. Armin sat awkwardly in the chair in the corner. He wasn't allowed to take the blue dress off, even to sleep, just in case the MP came in the night._

_"Are you gonna sleep in the chair?" Jean asked._

_"I don't think that I'll be able to sleep anyway…"_

_Jean sighed. "So, if you're Krista and I'm Eren…do we know that they're after us or are we clueless?"_

_Armin thought it over for a few moments. "I think we know."_

_"Why are we hanging out in an inn somewhere and not at HQ?"_

_"Maybe we're rebelling from the Scouting Legion because we're sick of being monitored all the time."_

_Jean gave a husky little laugh. "Yeah that sounds like Eren." Armin disagreed but he didn't feel the need to argue. Eren had matured as of late, and it seemed to Armin that it was all thanks to Corporal Levi. Jean propped himself up on his elbow and caught Armin's eye. "Then I guess I should give you the bed and sleep on the floor."_

_"Huh?"_

_"If we're Eren and Krista, I bet he'd let the girl sleep in the bed."_

_"No, that's alright. You sleep. I can't, anyway."_

_Jean grunted his acceptance and rolled over in bed. Armin rose and shut off the lights. He settled back into the chair, pulling his knees up to his chest and curling up within the dress. There was no way that his nerves would allow him to sleep but at least he could try to relax a little._

_After what felt like a long time, just when Armin thought that Jean was asleep, the other boy shifted a bit and said huffily through the darkness, "Don't sleep in the fucking chair. You need your rest. We might have to sit through an interrogation tomorrow." He said it like he was mildly excited instead of terrified._

_He's really gotten better at hiding his emotions, Armin realized. He remembered many occasions in the past where Jean had nearly lost his mind from the fear or anger or grief. He had really changed over the past year. They all had._

_"Don't worry, I was just busting your balls earlier," Jean assured Armin as the younger boy slipped out of the chair and into the bed. He sounded disgusted as he spoke. "I'm not gonna touch you. I was just being an ass. I get like that sometimes—trying to avoid what's really on my mind," he admitted. "You don't have to be scared of me."_

_"I'm not scared of you. I think you're a good soldier. And an even better leader," Armin said simply, and he meant it. The words must have struck a chord with Jean because he didn't speak for a while. When his voice finally came out again it was so soft that it hardly permeated the blackness._

_"Before he died, Marco told me the same thing…about being a good leader. For a little while I…" Armin was surprised to hear something scratching in Jean's voice, like he was getting choked up. "I believed him. For a little while. But then when he died—"_

_His own breathing next to nonexistent, listening to Jean willingly talk about the death of his closest friend, Armin was once again reminded of just how strong Jean had become._

_"With Marco gone, I just don't want to do this anymore," Jean admitted. "I don't want to do this whole 'fight the Titans and pretend like we have a shot in hell' thing. Because even if we do have a chance—with Eren and them—I mean, what kind of life will we have regardless of whether there's Titans or not? If anything, all we've learned from their existence is that humans have to become Titans in order to survive. We're incapable on our own, so what's the point?" He sighed heavily. "Every morning I wake up and try to be the leader that Marco thought I was. But at night when I lay down again…I realize that every word that's come out of my mouth all day is just a bunch of bullshit. I don't believe a single word of it."_

_"Well…you convince the rest of us okay," Armin said, trying to sound cheerful. But it came out forced and he heard Jean audibly grimace._

_"I seemed like a good soldier to you today?" he asked, getting frustrated with no one in particular._

_"You were a pain in the ass today," Armin said through a forced smile, but that time it sounded like a genuine joke and Jean chuckled lightly._

_For a while there was a pleasant silence and Armin felt his body start to relax and drift. Maybe he would be able to sleep after all. But Jean's voice roused him again. "You know, when we got this mission I was so offended at first," he said, once again sounding grim, their joking entirely lost among the anger and sorrow that made his head foggy. "It seemed like they were literally telling us that we were…that we were so worthless to the overall cause that our greatest purpose would be to lay down our lives without a struggle." The last line came out so perfectly that Armin could tell Jean has been thinking about this all day long. "I was angry," he went on, "but the more a think about it, the more I can accept it. It'd be ok if I die like that. That's how Marco died, I bet. I don't know…I didn't see. But he saved me more than once, so I'm sure he died in someone's place."_

_"We're not going to die, Jean," Armin said, starting to feel uneasy again. "They'll come and get us right away. That's the plan."_

_Jean sighed. It sounded almost sad, like he pitied Armin, like he knew something that Armin did not. "Regardless, I'd be ok with dying, I think. I couldn't have said that a year ago truthfully, but I mean it now."_

_"No!" Armin gasped, much louder than intended. He felt his heart rate speeding up at the thought of Jean dying. Ever since Eren had been discovered to be a Titan shifter, Armin had been forced to spend less and less time with him due to procedures and special missions. Eren was important now and Armin wasn't. Mikasa was incredibly strong and Armin was still weak._

_But Jean…Jean had always been around. He was like a normal, real person that Armin could always relate to. The idea that this normal boy was giving up the will to live—perhaps, had given up a long time ago—was devastating. If Jean couldn't last in this world…then how could Armin expect to?_

_"You…you have a lot to live for, Jean…" he stammered in the awkward silence following his outburst._

_"What are you talking about? Everyone's dead."_

_"That's not true," Armin said urgently, rolling in bed to face the black veil that hid Jean's face from him. "We're still alive. You have friends."_

_I'm your friend, Armin wanted to say. You know that's true. Just because Marco died doesn't mean you can't have friends anymore. Just because Mikasa doesn't see you how you want…it doesn't mean you have to emotionally separate yourself from everyone…_

_Jean gave no response, so Armin quietly continued, "We have to keep fighting for Humanity. You have to at least have faith in that."_

_But Jean only said, "I lost my faith in Humanity a long time ago."_

Yes, Jean had known all along what Armin is finally realizing. Not only is _everyone_ dead, but so is just about _everything_. What is there to believe in anymore, he wonders, slugging down the last mouthful of juice.

He used to believe that getting to the ocean was an attainable goal, but after this mission nothing seemed possible anymore. Why put your hope and trust in things that can simply die or betray you?

Armin stares at the orangey film on the bottom of the glass. He listens to the steady ticking of the clock on the kitchen wall. _The only thing steady in the world_ , he realizes with a pang of finality _, is_ _that everything ends eventually._

* * *

 

It is on the third day that Hange comes knocking on Armin's bedroom door. He is lying in bed staring at the ceiling when he hears the sharp rap. He opens the door to find her semi-manic grin glaring back at him. It's not her expression or her sudden presence that unnerves him, it's her words.

"He wants to see you."

The world trips and falls on him. He finds his feet pressed firmly down on the ground, held there stuck thanks to the pressure that grinds down on his head and shoulders. He can't move, can't breathe, can't speak. The knot that has sat in his gut for days suddenly doubles in size.

Hange just stares at him.

"Na—now?" he barely manages to squeak out. Any moisture that had once lived inside of his mouth is now gone.

"Yeah, anytime," Hange says flippantly, like he hasn't been sitting around waiting—dreading this moment for the past three days. She flashes him another much-too-happy smile and then turns away, moseying toward the kitchen. Armin can do nothing but stare after her in shock.

A minute later he finds himself standing in front of the mirror in his room, the one he has tried and tried not to look into. But oh, there he is, scrawny and blonde as ever. His face looks even more pathetic than before. His eyes are perpetually swollen and dark with unshed tears.

 _Don't cry. Don't you dare cry,_ he tells himself, grabbing his own hair and pulling until it hurts, just like that man did to him. It stings and it's something to focus on. _Don't you dare cry in front of him. You have absolutely no right._

Once the pain in his scalp is fierce enough to shock the tears away, he releases his hair and shakes the ache out of his hands. Then he walks out of his room and down the hall.

The door that he has passed a thousand times over the past three days. The doorknob that frightens his hands into spasms. Well, there's no choice now. It hovers for a moment and then he drops his fingers onto the smooth brass. It's not as cold as he expected. The knob seems to turn on its own and then the door opens without any prodding, like it's been waiting for him.

And then there he is.

_Jean._

He is sitting up in bed, his head turned away from the door, looking out of a small window. When he hears the door he glances toward Armin.

"Hey," Armin says too quickly.

"Hey, Armin," Jean says almost pleasantly, like maybe he's actually happy. There's a miniscule smile playing on his lips that baffles Armin. It stands out in such sharp contrast to his damaged face, the bright purple bruising around his nose being the worst of it. Hange must have done her best to straighten it out again. A neat little white bandage sits over the bridge of his nose, a blank spot in the midst of dark, murky colors, as unfitting as the smile.

"Well, don't just stand in the doorway," Jean says. "I don't bite any more than before."

Embarrassed, Armin slips inside of the room and the door shuts behind him with a little click. Jean has looked away—back out the window—so Armin takes a few steps toward the bed where his friend sits.

 _Sitting up,_ Armin notes positively, _that's got to be good news._

"How are you…" _How are you feeling?_ He wants to ask, but he stops short. Is that insensitive? Is that demeaning? He isn't sure.

"Doesn't hurt so much anymore," Jean replies without any prompting. He nods at the tube that goes into the crook of his arm, "Hange gave me some good stuff."

"That's nice of her."

"Yeah…she tried her best."

Something about that sentence feels wrong. A flash of panic lights up in Armin and his wide blue eyes have to fight the urge to dart around the bed. He doesn't have to look, he already knows just from the tone of Jean's voice. Something's wrong. Something is missing.

As calmly as he can, he drops his gaze to Jean's right side and all his eyes find are stained pinkish bandages wrapped tightly were the hand use to be.

 _No…_ he thinks desperately. This can't happen. This can't be possible. He feels all of the blood drain from his face.

"I'm so sorry, Jean," he whispers. What else is there to say? He feels the tears pricking at the corners of his eyes again and he grimaces.

"Don't fucking do that," Jean says seriously. "Please don't."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"No reason to be sorry about something you had no control over," Jean mutters, shifting his position slightly. "It is what it is. We knew the risks when we signed up. The mission was somewhat of a success, anyway, Eren and Krista are safe so this is just a job well done."

Armin stares at him blankly, fully aware that these aren't Jean's words. Are they Hange's, spoken in truth, happy that her science project is safe no matter the cost? Are they Levi's, given as some sort of well-intended patriotic comfort? Maybe they're Marco's.

"I thought maybe she could have saved it," Armin whispers.

"Yeah she tried. But I lost a lot, a lot of blood—at least, that's what she said—I can't remember much. She said I was in hypovolemic shock." It's a large word and he says it slowly. Likely he has heard it many times recently. "I don't even remember coming here."

 _Can't remember much…at least that's something to be thankful for_ , Armin thinks. The pain will be there to remind him, but at least he may have been spared every gory, gut-wrenching little detail that Armin's mind cannot stop replaying.

"So I'm sidelined for a while," Jean goes on, holding up his right arm and looking it over as if for the first time, even though he's certainly been staring at it in horror for days. "But apparently Hange thinks that there might be a chance that I can regrow it."

This is a surprise. "Really?"

"Once they get to the basement. She thinks they'll find something useful there."

Outwardly, Armin struggles to maintain a steady expression but it's nearly impossible. The basement? Even if they _do_ get there eventually and they _do_ find something that can save Humanity once and for all, there's next to no chance that they would use it on one soldier's lost hand.

He knows that this is an impossible wish and so does Jean, but they share a little smile, anyway.

_I realize that every word that's come out of my mouth all day is just a bunch of bullshit. I don't believe a single word of it._

"That's a good idea," Armin lies. "And until then, maybe you can get a break from all the shit they've put you through."

"Yeah maybe."

They say it like it's a good thing, as if Jean has accomplished something great and deserves a long rest instead of the truth. He's a wounded, discarded soldier who was not given the luxury of the death that he almost wanted.

Jean goes back to looking out the window and Armin tries not to think about the hand or the lies or even the truth. There is a bird chirping and it adds nicely to the false feeling of comfort. He thinks back to their night in the inn and how Jean had wanted Armin to come to bed. Not for any reason in particular, he realizes, but just because he was lonely.

Because they're all lonely, broken people teetering the line between fighting together while fighting alone.

"Jean," Armin says, crossing to the bed in quick steps and plopping down on the edge. It squeaks as his weight settles on it and the mattress buckles under them both, like some sort of connection. He waits for Jean to look at him, waits for their eyes to meet before he says anything because Armin isn't strong like Levi yet. His eyes are still real. But Jean's are almost lost behind the veil of strength.

 _I won't lose him, too,_ Armin determines. He glares into the older boy's eyes with all of the raw emotions and all of the guts that he can muster. All of the pain and confusion, the anger and heartbreak, the loss, the gain, the weakness that can never be made honestly stronger—only fortified with emotionless glances and straight faces—and all of the hope that is still there—maybe—somewhere deep down, almost drowned by the rest of it, but still holding on by a thread, reaching out for someone to grab on to.

And he sees the same thing inside of Jean.

"I'm your friend," Armin says. "You can have faith in that."

There are tears in Jean's eyes _. Do you know what you're saying? Do you know what that means?_

That means he can't die like Marco. He can't run blindly after Eren, ignoring everything else in the world like Mikasa. He can't devalue their lives like the Survey Corp does. Does he know what it means to be a normal soldier?

"Yeah. I do. You know, we're a lot alike," Armin admits. He reaches across his body and grabs Jean's left hand for a second, giving it a little squeeze before letting go. "We're gonna be fine," he says, "regardless."

And something in Jean's gaze tells Armin that maybe he almost believes him.

 

The End

_**A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who has read this story, I hope that you liked it! It was quite the emotional task to write. Please let me know what you think. Was it a satisfying end? I always struggle to end things. Much love~! -Addison** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you feel like submitting a prompt, I'm always up for filling a fic for you~!  
> Leave a comment on the requests page on my full site: www.lemonpressshorts.com OR in a message on heichou-my-boo.tumblr


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